A Favor For A Friend
by teegar
Summary: Story of young Pavel Chekov's first kiss with a childhood friend


**A Favor For a Friend**

by Teegar Taylor

Ten-year-old Pavel Chekov bit his lip and hesitated at the gate to the Deeling's house. Brinka Deeling was one of his best friends. If she wasn't a girl and younger than he was, he might have gone so far as to call her his _very_ best friend. However Brinka _was_ a girl and was _several _months younger. There were limits on how far one could presume upon friendship - especially with a girl and especially when one was almost eleven years old and should know how to act like a responsible adult, for goodness sakes.

Thus resolved to abandon his ignoble course of action, Pavel squared his shoulders and turned back towards his own house.

"Pasha!" A girl with white-blonde hair in short braids leaned out of a second story window waving and shouting, "Why were you gone for so long? I thought you'd never get back! Where are you going?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Well, I..."

"Pasha, you're not going to believe this." Brinka grinned broadly. "I've got a tent!"

All reservations were immediately discarded. Pavel pushed open the Deeling's gate just as soon as the light indicated that Brinka had released the security lock. Within a few days after Octabrina and her father had moved in next door to the Chekovs', she and Pavel had discovered that they shared a passion for camping. Through careful scrounging and begging, the two friends had amassed most of the necessary gear for an expedition. The one major item that had lacked up to this point had been something suitable to camp in.

"Where did you get it?" he shouted up at the window as he ran up the path.

"My Uncle Max bought it for me. I don't know why. We were just in the store and he said I could pick out anything I wanted."

"What kind is it?"

"A Cottman 657654-3," she reported proudly. "With the optional overlay."

"Perfect," he breathed reverentially. Unlike some of his other friends, Brinka never forgot or confused serial numbers... And she truly had a gift for manipulating her family and father's friends for presents when she put her mind to it.

"I'll be down in a minute," she called.

Pavel pressed the doorbell anyway. His mother frequently cautioned against running in and out as though he lived at the Deelings'... Although he was there more often than some of the people who supposedly resided there...

The door was opened by an unfamiliar woman with nice legs. Pavel guessed that she was Hals Deeling's new personal secretary/housekeeper. The door was almost always opened by a new personal secretary/housekeeper.

The woman must have expected someone taller, because it took her a long time to look down to Pavel's eye level.

"Who is it?" Hals Deeling roared from another part of the house.

"It's a little boy," the woman answered, sounding somewhat puzzled - as if she'd never seen such a creature before.

The sound of Deeling's piano resumed without comment.

The woman looked Pavel up and down. "Hello, little boy," she said in a not very friendly tone of voice.

Chekov sighed and shook his head. He decided not to be offended at this slight since he could already tell that this personal secretary/housekeeper was probably not going to be here the next time he called.

"Wait! Wait!" Brinka was coming down the stairs dragging a heavy box behind her. "He's mine!"

The soon-to-be former personal secretary/housekeeper rolled her eyes and stood aside so that Pavel could enter.

"You haven't taken it out of the box yet?" he asked, rushing to Brinka's aid.

"No." She paused to brush a wisp of white hair from her forehead. "I didn't think I could put it together myself."

"Your father wouldn't help you?"

Brinka gave a short laugh. "Pasha, I had to pretend like I hated the thing all week just so he wouldn't go near it."

"Oh." Chekov nodded slowly as he hefted one end of the box and helped her down the rest of the flight of stairs. It was often hard to reconcile Hals Deeling with his picture of how a father should behave. Putting up a tent with _his_ father, the geothermal engineer, would probably involve a long discussion of minute design flaws in the structure and possibly end up by improving on the original. Putting up a tent with Brinka's father, the temperamental pianist, would probably involve a lot of swearing and possibly end up by throwing the whole thing out with the trash.

"Where are you going, Brinka?" Deeling called as they passed the open door of his conservatory - at least that was what they called that particular room. There were pianos, synthesizers, and musical instruments of all descriptions in several rooms of the house. This particular chamber was actually a glassed-in lean-to with an excellent view of the garden. Much to the exasperation of many a personal secretary/housekeeper, the room contained several pairs of muddy boots and a variety of gardening implements in addition to the plain, black, un-technologically-enhanced piano on which Hals did most of his composing.

"Pasha's here." Octabrina signaled him to put the tent down well out of viewing range as she put her head through the doorway. "And besides, having to listen to one more chorus of that dirge you're working on would constitute child abuse."

"Ungrateful wretch," Deeling said mildly, as he continued to play. "This particular piece of saccharine sentimentality may put you through college one day. What do you think, Pashenka? Is it really so awful?"

Chekov folded his hands behind his back and considered the tune for a moment. "It's very nice. It makes me think of trains."

Deeling laughed as he began the phrase again, this time adding a heavier rhythm line as if to heighten the "train" sound. "Pasha, you are my favorite critic. Unlike any of the others, I never know quite what you're going to say."

"Oh, please." Brinka held her hands to her ears. "You're just making it worse."

"Gods," Deeling grumbled, returning to his original version, "why couldn't I have had a son?"

Chekov's eyes widened a little at this remark. He simply couldn't imagine his father saying the converse in front of him under any circumstances. Brinka, however, didn't so much as blink at the remark.

"Papa," she said, going to her father and putting her arms around his neck. "Even if I was a boy, I could never be as perfect a child for you as Pasha would be."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I wasn't born completely tone deaf," she replied, kissing his cheek and reaching under his arm to add a few notes to Deeling's composition.

"Hmmm." Deeling seamlessly worked Brinka's sequence into his phrase. "Childish," he concluded. "An overly simplistic solution... But then again, quite commercial."

Satisfied that her father was once more enough engrossed in his work to be oblivious to anything else, Brinka grinned and tiptoed out of the room, beckoning for Chekov to follow.

They unpacked the tent in the Deelings' ample garden under the shade of a large plane tree. Unlike some of his other friends, Brinka understood the importance of reading instructions and correctly interpreting diagrams. Working on a project with her never turned into a mindless race to finish first. If something went wrong, she offered suggestions instead of wasting time by blaming him and calling him stupid.

As Pavel fitted together a support rod, he reflected on how wrong people's assumptions could be. For instance, his parents, who were normally very intelligent people, had initially assumed that just because Hals Deeling like to have noisy parties on nights when they had to work early the next morning, Pavel and Brinka weren't going to get along. They had also erroneously assumed that since they liked Dmitri Aaronovich's parents, he and Mitya were going to be best friends. They couldn't have been further from the truth...

"So..." Brinka reached over his shoulder to hold open the tab that the support fitted through. "What happened this time?"

Chekov found it absolutely uncanny how she seemed to be able to read his thoughts at times. He shrugged as he slid the support into place. "I hate Mitya."

"He's a jerk."

Chekov couldn't help but smile a little as he hammered in the stake. It was of enormous comfort to him that Brinka concurred with his estimation of Dmitri Aaronovich's personality. His parents were absolutely blind and deaf to all evidence of his enemy's faults. Although Chekov usually held his parent's opinions in very high regard, he trusted Brinka's excellent judgement of character more in this case. She had - although she had never actually met Mitya - taken the opportunity to spy on him upon the occasion of several of his and his parents' visits to the Chekovs' house. And Octabrina was not the sort of person to casually call someone a jerk just to please a friend.

Despite being ten months younger and a girl, she was a good friend... too good to be asked the sort of questionable favor he was thinking of.

"So what happened?" Brinka persisted as he moved on to the next stake.

"Oh, nothing,"

She took the tent support out of his hand with a shake of her head. "So, what happened?" she repeated firmly.

Pavel decided it would be all right to tell her without asking her for help. "We were watching a movie..."

He looked up at her and was unable to continue.

She blinked patiently. "And?"

"And... it was a romantic movie," he said, hoping that would explain everything.

"And?"

"There was... kissing..."

"Yes. And?"

"Because someone has not ...:" he paused, then added as if pulling the circumstance out of thin air, "...kissed a girl, that does not make that person a baby, don't you think?"

"What?"

"It's not really proper, is it? Before you're married?"

"Oh, people kiss before they're married," she assured him, holding the next tab open. "That happens all the time."

This, he knew, was why he'd come to her. Even though she was younger, she knew about these things. Her father, after all, was a musician.

He fitted the last support into place and stepped back to examine their handiwork.

Octabrina, however, was observing him with solemn blue-grey eyes. "... And you've never kissed a girl?" she concluded.

Pavel was momentarily taken aback by her accuracy. "Well, not extensively," he admitted cautiously.

".. And you want me to ...?"

"No. No, that wouldn't be right," he interrupted hastily, despite the fact she had rapidly homed in on his purpose. "People should be... well, not married, but at least in love if they're going to kiss..."

Brinka shook her head at his naiveté. "It doesn't always go that way either..."

"Oh."

The silence between them lengthened awkwardly.

Brinka looked back and forth between him and the tent as if weighing the two. "I want to go camping this summer."

"So do I."

"So we can't be boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Of course not," he automatically agreed, although he was a little hurt by her bluntness. "Why not?"

"Because then our parents would find out and they wouldn't let us go camping together."

"Why?"

Brinka shook her head as she bent to unfasten the front flap of the tent. "You really are new to this, aren't you?"

Chekov scowled, but had no rebuttal.

"Okay, just as long as that's understood," Brinka said before crawling inside.

Pavel was momentarily unsure as how to proceed. Had his request just been refused or accepted? Shrugging, he decided to crawl in after her.

Brinka was adjusting the ventilation panels. Silently he joined her. For the first time since he'd met her, Pavel felt uncomfortable with Brinka. He glanced over to see if she was watching him. She was.

For the first time, he had to force himself to meet her penetrating gaze. "I shouldn't have asked you," he apologized.

"Oh, don't be stupid," Brinka scolded, taking his hands and guiding him up on his knees facing her. "I don't mind. Now, in order to do this properly, you need to go slowly. Look deep into the other person's eyes."

"Why?" Chekov asked, peering intently into his friend's clear blue eyes.

"To show that your feelings are sincere," she replied seriously. However, after a few more seconds of maintaining eye contact, the corners of her mouth began to twitch.

"What?" Pavel tried to sound affronted, but he was having to bite his lips not to smile himself.

"I don't know," she said breaking into giggles. "You just look so very, _very_ sincere."

He grinned then spread his arms melodramatically. "Oh, Brinka, my dear," he proclaimed in his best actor-ly voice. "My feelings are true!"

"Oh, Pasha, my darling," she replied in a like manner, clutching her hands to her chest. "I know that is true. I know that you _truly_ feel that you would like to punch Mitya in the nose!"

This made them both giggle so hard that they lean on each other for support.

"Okay, okay," Brinka said recovering first and patting him on the shoulders. "All right, next you put your arms around the other person like this." She placed his hands on the small of her back then put her arms around his neck.

Chekov nodded in satisfied agreement. The actors in the film had stood just so.

"Although," she said, as a devilish thought occurred to her. "Stefan Mihailovich holds his lovers like this..." She cupped his cheeks into her hands and gave his lips a noisy smack. "You were maaahvelous, daaaahling," she said, in an oily imitation of her father's friend.

"Yuck!" Pavel made a face at the thought of the hated violinist. "Who would want to be Stefan Milhailovich's lover?"

"Lots of people," Brinka confided. "Lots and lots of people."

"But he's so stupid."

"And mean," she agreed.

The two friends both shook their heads and sighed at the mysterious workings of the adult mind before returning to the task at hand.

"What's next?" Chekov asked, putting his hands back into position and squaring his shoulders.

"Tilt your head a little... the opposite of mine," she instructed as she moved to illustrate. "Keep your eyes on the other person's mouth and nose so you don't run into them."

When they were on the point of brushing lips, Pavel pulled back. "Don't you close your eyes?"

"Once you're kissing, you can if you want to," she replied. "Really, I suppose it's only polite. You shouldn't be looking all around at everything while you're kissing someone."

He giggled. "It wouldn't look sincere."

"Don't scrunch your mouth up," she advised. "And try not to make a smacking noise with your lips."

"But there is a noise," he argued. "You can _hear_ a proper kiss."

"That takes care of itself. Here let me show you..." Putting her arms once more around his neck, Brinka leaned forward and kissed his lips softly. "There. That was proper, wasn't it?"

Chekov nodded, then looked at her expectantly.

"Oh." Brinka's face fell a little. "In the film, they weren't using their tongues, were they?"

"I'm afraid so," Pavel replied apologetically. "You've never done that, I suppose."

"No," she admitted, then squared her shoulders bravely. "But I know how it's done. Here, let me go first. Don't do anything."

He obediently accepted her embrace, but when her small tongue forced its way past his lips, he pull his head back abruptly. "That's too strange."

"Oh, it's not that bad," she replied. "Here, you try."

Chekov frowned, but the memory of Mitya's mockery firmed his resolve. He pressed his lips to Brinka's. There was something distinctly pleasant about the way her mouth dropped slightly open in response to the pressure from his. The ticklish sensation of their tongues meeting and sliding against each other was... very interesting.

"Mmmm," she said noncommittally when it was over. "What did you think?"

Pavel nodded. "It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be."

"No," Brinka agreed. "Not that bad at all."

With their arms still loosely intertwined, the two took a silent moment to thoughtfully evaluate the experience.

"Pasha," Brinka said at last. "You remember what I said about the two of us _not_ being girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh course," he assured her staunchly. "The thought would never enter my mind."

"Good," she said, putting her arms around his neck. "Because I think you're going to need a lot more practice."

**** END ****


End file.
